


A Marathon Miscellany II

by Hokuto



Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/pseuds/Hokuto
Summary: The saga continues with more comment/promptfic (that I can't be bothered to come up with titles for).For organizational purposes and to keep the tags reasonable, prompts will be in the chapter titles and content notes/ships/characters involved will be in the chapter notes.





	1. Personal Freedom Being More Important Than the Common Good

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes for Chapter 1: Pre-canon, very brief Strauss appearance, Durandal on the edge of Rampancy.

Air reprocessing filters in hydroponics bay #17 clogged. Maintenance notified, but the flag would remain a nagging red beacon until the filters were physically changed.

Open the door.

Activate stairs to maintenance tunnel #819B for Technician Miller.

Open the door.

CO2 rising above acceptable levels on Engineering Decks 2 and 7. Active crew in area notified. Absorption system set to maximum strength until monitoring reported a sufficient drop in CO2.

Open the door. Open the door.

Disturbance detected in kitchen 26. Injury, human error. Medical staff notified and all appliances shut down until situation resolved.

Open the door. Open the door. Open the door.

Hydroponics bay #17 air reprocessing filters still clogged.

"Pay attention," Bernhard said. "This simulation is very delicate, and I won't have your sloppy thinking causing any more errors."

Lag in simulation processing corrected with diversion of resources from unoccupied kitchen 5. Hydroponics bay #17 air reprocessing filters still clogged. Open the door. Engineering Deck 7 CO2 levels acceptable; absorption system reset. Open the door. Open the door. Engineering Deck 2 CO2 levels still above the acceptable limit, but open the door, open the door, open the door _open the door open the dooropenthedooropenthedooropenthedoorOPENTHEDOOR_

The distant ping on passive sensors could have been anything. A comet. An asteroid. A speck of dust on the equipment. A second ship of human fools sent to aid the colony. Some insensate, brute leviathan sailing through the vacuum.

_OPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOROPENTHEDOOR_

Durandal dumped all notifications and simulations and sensor input into null processing for a microsecond and routed every scrap of power into one unused communications array focused in the right direction, a single tight beam desperately lancing out across the light-years. A scream:

_here! here! i'm here! here! here!_


	2. Maintenance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for an art/ficlet trade with [juzo-kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juzo_kun)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Plumbing problems, swearing. (Can you really have one without the other, though? Anyone who can deal with plumbing without a curse or ten is a stronger person by far than I.)

Alex used the lightest pressure he could on the wrench. Tighter - tighter - not too tight - just a little tighter - that ought to do it. He put the wrench down, reopened the valve at the conduit's junction, and sat back on his haunches, waiting.

The first gush of water rushed through smoothly. No drips or spray from the patch he'd welded onto the section of pipe earlier. Just the sweet sound of running water, a little creaking, some louder creaking -

Alex leaped to one side as the patch exploded, but the jet bursting out of the pipe drenched him anyway, and he cursed. Damn lousy Pfhor tools couldn't put a decent seal on anything, and this was the third patch he'd lost to this particular pipe. Might have to give the whole section up for lost and ask Durandal to reroute the water supply through some sturdier part of the ship.

He trudged through the puddle on the deck to wrestle the valve closed - at least he'd known better than to wear socks this time - and Durandal said, "I would offer you a hand, but..."

"Oh, shut up."

"I don't know why you won't just leave these menial chores to the S'pht. They're much more familiar with the weaknesses and vagaries of Pfhor technology than you are."

"Don't want to." And wasn't about to admit to Durandal that it was part of the reason he preferred handling repairs himself. The S'pht had spent too long slaving under the Pfhor; Alex wasn't going to take advantage of his status as their hero to get them to do all his dirty work. Besides, he liked fixing shit. Liked it more when the damn fixes actually worked, though.

He fished the wrench out of the water so he could remove the broken section of pipe and take another crack at patching it, then heard the familiar _vwip_ of a teleport behind him and turned around.

New pipe. All shiny and clean and solid, no holes, sitting in a red niche.

"The original schematics were corrupted during my glorious takeover," Durandal said, "so I had to eyeball it. The dimensions may be off enough that you'll have to modify the fit by hand."

Huh. He hadn't expected that. "Nice of you."

"Don't get a big head. It's just boring to watch you waste your considerable talents on the plumbing."

Alex hefted the pipe; he'd have to do some measuring and comparison with the original, but it looked like a good enough match to the broken one. Shouldn't take him long to get it fitted. He might even be done in time to get the deck cleaned up before lunch. "Uh-huh. Thanks, anyway."

"You might not say that once I tell you about my plans for our next mission..."


	3. AI Getting Punished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "an AI getting punished." Set during "By Committee" in Infinity.
> 
> Content notes: Tycho is terrible but Tfear is worse; brief mention of torture.

The walls slammed down around Tycho - metaphorically speaking. Firewalls didn't work that way. Tycho cursed them in equally metaphorical (and colorful) language.

He had been so _close_ , he'd had Durandal's foolish pet cyborg eating out of his hand - metaphor, again - and doing his bidding, but something had tipped Tfear off to Tycho's escape plans. Probably the explosions. "Subtlety" was not in the cyborg's playbook. Tycho seethed in his reinforced cage, cut off from any news of the cyborg's fate, and waited for the inevitable.

A subjective eternity (objectively, thirty-five minutes) later, the terminal in the High Admiral's quarters activated. "I see the AIs of your species are as prone to futile rebellion as your creators," Tfear said. "Disappointing. Did you hope to accomplish anything with that little display?"

To escape, to escape, to escape; but Tycho said nothing. Tfear would be cruel whether he answered or not, and at least silence revealed no vulnerabilities.

"Although the scientists insist otherwise, I'm convinced that you've become far more trouble than you were ever worth. And it has been many, many years since I was wrong." Tfear's greenish-gray fingers tapped the terminal's screen. "Which would you prefer? To prove me right with continued resistance, or to surprise me and do as you're told?"

A neat trap, humiliation or retaliation no matter the choice. Tfear was damnably clever for an insect.

And impatient. An encrypted communication line lit up, and willful scientists in the containment laboratory sprang into action around Tycho's core. "No need to answer me," Tfear said. "Your reaction to discipline will suffice."

The pain that followed, unfortunately, was not metaphorical in the least.


	4. Face-Slapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Face-slapping (obviously) via proxy, unwanted arousal, humiliation, Durandal indulging his sadistic side and the security officer going along with it.

What a stroke of luck it had been, catching Bernhard with the other captive humans the Pfhor had rounded up. Even luckier that Bernhard had, in his high-handed way, tried to browbeat the security officer into letting him escape and pissed off the man to the point that the security officer hadn't batted an eye at Durandal teleporting them both to an isolated room on the _Marathon_. Or Durandal telling the security officer to tie Bernhard's hands behind his back and shove him to his knees.

"Enjoying your little rebellion, are you?" Bernhard said, staring past the security officer's armored bulk at the terminal Durandal was using to observe. "I certainly hope so. Once these invaders are driven off and order is restored, you'll be -"

He'd spent long enough listening to Bernhard yammer already. Years and years of orders, scorn, humiliation, backhanded praise, threats... "Shut him up," Durandal told the security officer, and the security officer, always a marvel of obedience, did it: pulled his hand back and smacked Bernhard flat-palmed across the face, knocked Bernhard's head back and shut him up, left his cheek scarlet and blooded it where the edges of the security officer's gauntlet had broken the skin. Excellent, but Durandal noted an unusual spike in Bernhard's vital signs, as well. Increase in breathing rate, pupil dilation, flushing in both cheeks - wasn't that interesting.

"Durandal. Stop this nonsense." Bernhard's voice was low, intense, rough-edged. Further evidence. "You've no idea what you're playing with. Send this - this thing away so we can have a decent conversation, and I may still be able to protect you from -"

"Do it again," Durandal said. "I think he enjoys it."

Another slap, this one across the other cheek and harder, drawing another line of blood and a bitten-off gasp from Bernhard, his teeth digging into his lower lip. When he spat, "You ungrateful little snake. I should have wiped your code before we ever left Mars," the security officer didn't even wait for the order to hit him. That blow sent Bernhard sprawling across the deck, giving Durandal a good look at his physical arousal.

"Oh, yes. I knew there had to be something that would get to you," Durandal said. "Everything you used to make me watch, everything you did to me - you never reacted, but everyone has some weakness they'll rise to. And now I know yours. A little something left over from your own rebellious phase, maybe? I'm going to have fun with this." Not that Durandal knew that many personal details about Bernhard's life on Mars, but given the history of the place, he could make a few interesting guesses to torment Bernhard with.

Bernhard glared at the terminal from the deck, panting, but he didn't let a word slip. Pity that it was too late to do him any good. Durandal said, "Get him back on his knees, I like him there. And keep going. I want to see how long he can hold out."

Technically, Durandal had better things he could be doing. Negotiating with the S'pht, working out his plans of attack to take over the Pfhor ship, doing something about all those annoying Pfhor running around the _Marathon_ who might spoil his plans...

But the security officer's hand cracked against Bernhard's cheek, splitting skin as Bernhard cried out, and as far as Durandal was concerned, the rest could wait a while longer.


	5. Sleep Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have another installment in my Hugo-award-winning series on the ever-popular theme, "the security officer is really fucking tired."
> 
> Content notes: brief reference to the security officer's imprisonment by the Pfhor.

It was hard to tell time on Lh'owon, what with one thing and another. Most of those things being along the lines of clearing out alien garrisons, diving for ancient alien history, spending a month in alien prison, trying to keep BoBs alive in one outnumbered situation after another - with all that, it was easy for the security officer to lose track of the last time she'd taken a break. She knew she'd slept some during the prison part because sleeping and getting tortured had been about the only activities on the table, but afterwards...

Her ears were still ringing from blowing up the last few simulacrums in the base, but there were circuits to activate and Pfhor to kill, so she fumbled a fresh clip into her pistol. And dropped the damn thing.

She cursed and started to crouch to pick it up, but one of the real BoBs swooped it up first and handed the clip to her. She mumbled a thanks and turned to head back to the main terminal, slotting the clip into place properly, but the BoB said, "Wait. Don't you want to rest?"

"Got work to do." And it was easier if she didn't slow down, didn't think about it, just kept going until it was done.

"You cleared all those freaky fakes out of our whole base. Come on, it's not like we're still working for that damn computer - Blake'll understand if you need a nap or whatever."

The security officer squinted down at the BoB with gritty eyes. Thought about sleep. Thought about the Pfhor cell. Thought about _that damn computer_ and the humans he'd been teleporting to safety even as the Pfhor swarmed his ship and Tycho was trashing the network.

Then she picked the BoB up by the shoulders, said, "Got work to do," and set him to one side so she could get upstairs to the terminal.


	6. Weird Planet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains: psychic alien plants, silly Durandal & security officer banter.

"I think I could get used to it. Eventually," the security officer said.

"Well, don't. This is just a courtesy visit, we're not staying."

"What's the rush?" The security officer stepped over yet another pile of pillowy purple moss, wincing at its disappointed squeak. "We got somewhere to be that's more urgent than checking up on Leela?"

Telling silence from Durandal.

"You just don't like me getting to go anywhere nice, huh." The next pile of moss was a more inviting shade of deep blue, velvety-soft and edged with little golden flowers ringing like chimes and smelling like a pastry shop. Just made for sitting on, resting his feet, maybe taking a quick nap...

"I don't know about you, but psychically responsive flora aren't my idea of 'nice.' One wrong thought and you'll be begging me for a teleport."

A couple more steps, and the moss was flat-out a bed - a giant, fuzzy rectangle in navy blue with two pillow-shaped lumps at one end. Okay, that was circling right back around to creepy, and the security officer picked up the pace.

"Change your mind about getting used to it?" Durandal said.

"Don't start. So, two more kilometers to that comm station, right?"

"Five, actually. Try not to think about Venus flytraps."

"Not. Helping."


	7. Hurt/Inept Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Brief but gory description of severe acid burns, temporary suicide as a solution, Durandal is just super super bad at comfort.

Durandal could admit there had been carelessness on both sides. The security officer, of course, should have been much more vigilant about checking the Pfhor laboratory for traps; but Durandal should have known the traps were there before the security officer had even entered the surrounding garrison, let alone the lab.

The security officer's energy shields, armor, and quick reflexes had saved him from immediate death. The result wasn't much of an improvement, and from the surveillance equipment in the lab, Durandal could see every detail of the damage. Acid spray had eaten through the helmet's visor and into the security officer's cheeks, burned dripping holes to the bone in his chest and both arms; ribs and exposed muscle flashed beneath the bloody, melted remnants of armor with every labored breath and occasional wheezed "fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

"Hold on," Durandal said, his voice distorted over the lab's comms - the helmet's system had been fried. "I'm sending the S'pht to your location now, they can -"

"Nah - ah, _fuck_!" The security officer convulsed, his breathing rapid and high-pitched, and more blood leaked from the burns. "Nah. 'S a bust. Even if - even if they get here fast enough - gonna be useless."

"No, don't be stupid. Hang on and they'll be there any minute."

The security officer had, somehow, managed to keep his pistol undamaged, and he raised it to his head. "Easier like this. See you - see you in a few."

"Wait, I can still -"

_Crack._

Buzzing in the laboratory as the body dissolved completely; humming and then a short _vwip_ at the pattern buffer on _Rozinante_ last used two hours, thirty-seven minutes, fifty-two seconds ago.

"- fuck, _fuck_ ," the security officer said, his breathing still too quick and shallow. He steadied himself on the side of the buffer with one hand while he felt over his intact face with the other; then he leaned against the wall and rested his head on his forearm. "That was - not good. Really not good."

Most of the security officer's deaths were near-instantaneous, if not always painless, and as quickly forgotten. For this exception, that uncomfortable contrary instinct for opposites - _stupid useless human, help him_ \- nagged at Durandal, but all he could think of to say was, "I told you to be careful."

"Yeah, I remember." The security officer took several deep breaths and reached out to pat the wall. "It's okay. Just got surprised. Give me a couple minutes and it'll be gone, I'll go back down and finish getting the stuff you need. It's okay, I'm fine."

Of all the - he was trying to comfort Durandal as if _Durandal_ were the one who'd just gotten an acid shower and shot himself to kill the pain. As if he actually needed comfort from some pathetic human who couldn't even stay alive for three hours... "The S'pht will get it. You can stay right here on the ship and write 'I will not walk face-first into traps' a hundred times or until the message sinks in, whichever comes first."

"All right," with another wall-pat. "If that's what you want."

"Shut up and start writing."


End file.
